Cory MorseGwenneth Bean, 57, who is a graduate of Mona Shores High School, says the upcoming concert is her story told in song. "I feel like I'm back to myself again," she said last week.

Gwenneth Bean remembers the exact moment in 2005 when she chose life over death; singing over sitting; freedom over the sense of being imprisoned, trapped in the weight of her own body.

It was the day she stepped on the scales at her doctor's office in Muskegon, and it registered a shocking 450 pounds.

By the time she went to the doctor, she had slowly retreated from public life and performing. This photo was taken four years ago.

Once an opera star of international acclaim, Bean has always had a larger-than-life talent, on-stage presence (including eyelashes that don't quit) and off-stage personality.

The Washington Post called her "a phenomenal presence." The Opera News wrote this: "Unusual richness and glow. Ms. Bean's is a voice with a future."

But at 5 feet, 7 1/2 inches tall, 450 pounds was too much, even for an opera singer who wasn't expected to be Hollywood thin.

"You know what they say in opera: It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings," Bean says, laughing as she speaks, but the words still sting, because the saying is about the roles she sang once with great regularity.

Blessed with a rare and beautiful contralto voice, Bean spent six glorious years at the New York Metropolitan Opera and sang with the likes of Placido Domingo and the late Luciano Pavarotti. By the time she went to the doctor, she had slowly retreated from public life and performing. She could no longer stand to sing in concert. Her stamina was gone, and her spirit was waning.

"I felt like an eagle, wanting to fly, but I was chained. It was like I was tethered to the earth," she says.

In the mid-1990s, Bean moved home to West Michigan after living nearly 20 years in New York City and Chicago, and traveling around the world to sing in opera houses and recital halls. At the time, she said it was because she wanted to be closer to her family, including her parents, the Rev. Rex and Margaret Bean of Muskegon.

Now she confesses that her weight cost her jobs -- and that was when she still was consistently in the 310- to 350-pound range.

"They didn't come out and say it," she says, "but I knew."

Bean wasn't the only opera singer whose career was affected by excess weight. In 2004, soprano Deborah Voigt made international headlines when she was fired from the London Opera House because she couldn't fit into a costume -- a little black dress the leading role was expected to wear.

As a contralto, which is the deepest and lowest of women's voices, Bean was never cast as the main character. Contraltos usually play the parts of witches, nursemaids or mothers.

"We don't have to be thin," she says.

But Bean insists she wasn't thinking about regaining a lost career when she made the decision in the summer of 2005 to undergo gastric bypass surgery to control her weight.

"I didn't do this to get back to the Met, to get married again or anything like that. I did this to get healthy," she says.

The transformation is nothing short of stunning.

At her heaviest, Bean wore size 6X clothes. Last week, she bought herself size 16 blue jeans. Since she had her surgery on Aug. 10, 2005, Bean has shed 225 pounds.

Now after four years of intense exercise, diligently watching her diet and singing in smaller venues, Bean is ready to make her second debut, so to speak.

She says the Saturday concert is her story, told in song.

And if there is a chance ending, one that lands her back at the Met or in a concert hall in Europe or North America where she once sang, so be it. She has contacted her agent and told him she's ready to try again. At 57, she's ready to tackle opera again.

"If it's meant to be, it's meant to be," she says.

If it isn't, she says she's more than content teaching private music lessons in Grand Rapids where she lives, Spring Lake where she is the director of music and worship at Spring Lake Christian Reformed Church, and Muskegon which she still calls home.

"No matter what, I have a story to tell," she says.

She swears it started in the children's choir at Temple United Methodist Church in Muskegon Heights when she was given a solo, her first, at the age of 4.

Or maybe it was at Mona Shores High School when Gwenneth Bean -- who was just plain Gwen in those days -- learned to love both classical music and jazz from choir director Lawrence Gray, of Muskegon.

"She was highly respected when she was performing, even by the great conductors. She's had a tremendous career," says Gray.

Gray says it might be more difficult for Bean to re-establish herself on the world stage at this stage in her career.

"But there's no telling how far she could go. There's no doubt, she's got the voice," he says.

Or does her story start when she left an abusive marriage and moved to Chicago in 1979, urged to audition for the Chicago Lyric Opera by the late Richard Versalle, another Muskegon success story? Afraid she wouldn't make it in the big city, but even more frightened not to try, Bean sang her heart out, finally letting people outside of her hometown hear her beautiful contralto voice.

None other than the late, great Leonard Bernstein heard her sing a role at the Chicago Lyric Opera and took her under his wing, giving her a solo spot in an international tour

"My Lord," Bean says. "Look at who mentored me."

At the Met, the kid from Muskegon rubbed elbows and sang with the biggest and the best: Pavarotti, Domingo, Renee Fleming, Kathleen Battle, Jessye Norman.

"Oh, honey," Bean says. "I've sung with them all."

And held her own.

It is not unusual for contraltos to sing well into their 60s, and even their 70s, an encouraging note for someone who's looking forward to her 40th class reunion this summer.

"I feel like I'm back to myself again," Bean says. "I feel like I'm free, like I can soar again."